It’s Not All Fake

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LIAM

T he elevator doors slide shut, and I let out a slow breath, trying to get in the right headspace for what is about to happen.

I’ve delayed this meeting with Chloe, but I still don’t think it was enough time. I told her work came up, which it did. But work always comes up. I could have kept our original date, but I put it off. I needed time to get a grip, to remember that this is just business. Chloe is my employee.

Now, time is up.

The elevator stops moving and the doors open. I remind myself that Chloe’s job is to mess with my head and stir up feelings. The fact that I’m feeling things for her is a byproduct of that, of course.

I’ll go in tonight, tell her some personal stuff, and we’ll be done. We can move on, and continue with the fa?ade for my mother’s sake, as we agreed. End of story.

I smooth the collar on my short-sleeve, button-up shirt as I stride the couple steps to her open office door. She wanted to meet here. I assume because our “girlfriend-boyfriend chats” are basically rebranded life coaching sessions.

It’s past seven and almost dark out. About a dozen lamps glow in her office, setting the mood for intimate conversations. She’s seated at her desk, frowning at her computer.

“Something wrong?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“Oh.” She jumps, surprised, and stands up. “Um,” she says as she smiles nervously, “I think I have malware or something on my computer.”

I cross the threshold into the office. “I can have my tech guys take a look and fix it if you’d like.”

“Actually, sure, that’d be great. I have my client files on here, so I don’t want this thing crashing,” she explains, understandably anxious.

“I’ll send someone by in the morning,” I offer.

“Thank you,” she accepts, tucking a strand of hair that escaped her messy ponytail behind her ear. It seems like she tried to dress extra conservatively today. Her lacy blouse has a high neck, and her flowy yellow skirt almost reaches her ankles. I wonder if her outfit choice has anything to do with our meeting today. Is she trying to visually rebuild the boundaries between us and communicate that she’s off limits?

Unfortunately, her outfit choice does not detract whatsoever from how gorgeous she is.

“Do you want this closed?” I nod to the door.

“Um, yes, please.” She walks around her desk toward the armchair that she sat in last time. I push the door shut and exhale, trying to release the tension that’s creeping back in. “Please, have a seat.” Chloe motions to the overstuffed couch. This is déjà vu.

Reluctantly, I take a seat on the couch, and she sits in the armchair.

“I know this feels kind of weird.” Chloe smiles softly. “But our goal is to identify and overcome those blocks that keep you from having a loving relationship. So that, after we break up, you can be successful.”

Her tone is gentle, but I shift uncomfortably on the coach.

“So, how do we do that?” I ask, trying to remember that this is part of the deal that I begged her to accept.

“Well, we already have one clue. Your college girlfriend lied and cheated. You want to avoid that hurt again.”

“Jesus.” I rub my hand over my face. Her analysis strikes a nerve, and I want this to stop.

Chloe studies me and I feel even more tense, my body fighting against any vulnerability. I sit in silence, wondering how I can possibly make it through this conversation.

“What are you thinking?” she asks quietly. She wants to know if her hypothesis is correct.

“I’m thinking that I feel like a lab specimen, Chloe. This isn’t supposed to be life coaching anymore,” I say, exasperated. I don’t want to feel judged and analyzed from a therapist’s armchair. “Can you just come sit next to me and have a real conversation? You’re my girlfriend, not my shrink.”

“Well, I’m neither, actually.” Chloe stiffens, frustrated.

“Please, can we just make this more like a normal conversation?” I search her green eyes, pleading.

Chloe thinks, chewing her lower lip. Finally, she sighs and stands up. She approaches and carefully sits down on the couch, not too far away but not too close to me either. It’s the healthy distance you’d expect between two professionals.

She settles in, sitting on one bent leg so she is turned to face me, her long skirt covering up her leg and ballet flat completely. I reposition as well, angling towards her.

“How does this feel?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Much better, thank you.” I grin widely. She catches my smile, despite herself.

“You have to be in control, don’t you?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You can’t control other people.” She shrugs. “They lie, cheat, leave.”

She just jumps right back into the deep . Fuck.

I shake my head but decide to follow her lead. “So, I avoid real relationships to prevent all that hurt. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s just about your ex-girlfriend,” she says softly. “There’s more hurt there,” she guesses.

I clench my jaw and look down at the couch cushions. She’s knocking at dark doors that I’d prefer to leave shut. When I finally look up, her gaze is warm and patient. She’s already let me in on some of the darkest parts of her history. I can trust her , I think.

“I didn’t see a good model of a relationship,” I disclose, clearing my throat. “My mom… well, I don’t know how much she’s told you about the abuse.” I search her eyes for a flicker of familiarity on the topic, but there is only confusion.

“Um, I’m not sure.” Chloe seems taken aback. “What happened?”

I’m surprised that my mother didn’t share her past with Chloe, her beloved coach. Now I wonder if I should share, if that’s a door my mother kept shut with her. Part of me realizes this would be an easy out, to tell Chloe that I can’t share something about my mother that she didn’t volunteer herself, for whatever reason.

But it’s my history too. I have just as much right to it. And I need to do this. I owe this to Chloe. She has opened old wounds of her own. It’s my turn.

Chloe waits quietly for my response, looking just as vulnerable as I feel, perhaps hurt that my mother didn’t confide in her.

“My dad abused my mom,” I tell her. “I saw it until I was seven, when he finally… left our lives.” I choose my words carefully. I don’t know how much to say. “I never saw him again,” I explain simply.

Chloe winces, clearly pained by my revelation. “What did you see?”

I breathe out slowly. “He would slap her, grab her and leave bruises, throw her down. He broke her jaw the night he finally left.” My insides twist painfully at the memories.

Chloe’s hand flutters to her mouth. “Oh my God.” Her eyes become watery. “I’m so sorry, Liam.”

I grit my teeth as old feelings of anger bubble to the surface. I take a breath, trying to release some of the tension.

Chloe’s eyes explore my face. “Did he ever hit you?”

“No—not until that last night.” I shift on the couch, but it’s impossible to get comfortable. “I tried to intervene, and he pushed me. I hit my head, that’s how I got this,” I run my finger over the scar on my temple.

She watches me as I trace the scar, her eyebrows knitted together. She doesn’t speak, she just sits with me. I’m sure she has a lot of questions, but I’m grateful for the momentary pause, as painful as it is to stay in this memory.

I try to refocus on her agenda—why I’m “blocked” from relationships—and suddenly, I realize she might be thinking something very wrong about me. I scrunch up my face, feeling defensive.

“I’m not avoiding relationships because I’m worried I’ll be like my dad, Chloe. I’d never do that.” I hold her gaze, trying to make her understand.

“I know,” she says softly, reassuring me and I realize I was wrong. She must have other ideas about the deeper roots of my “avoidance” of relationships.

“What’s your diagnosis, then?” I raise my eyebrow playfully, trying to bring a little levity to our conversation.

She forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and sadness lingers. “You’ve associated relationships with hurt from an early age. It makes sense why you’d steer clear.” In her eyes, there’s a depth of understanding and acceptance that I’m not used to.

It sounds so simple, a neat explanation for everything in my life that has been anything but simple.

Chloe sits patiently, using silence as a tool to draw more out of me. But my thoughts take a turn as I gaze into her striking green eyes, wondering how she is single. She is smart, ambitious, beautiful, and—with her life coaching skills—you’d think she would’ve found Mr. Right by now.

“What about you, Chloe? Why are you single?” I ask gently, realizing this is the same line of questioning that got me into trouble during our first session.

Chloe stiffens and shifts uneasily on the couch cushion. A nervous smile plays on her lips. “Liam, we don’t have to talk about me. Our chats are about you, to help you.”

She has a point. This was her one “ask” in our deal, and it was always meant to be about me. But now, I need this conversation to feel more natural, to be two-sided.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Chloe, but I want to know you.” There are many ways that I would like to know her. I admit this isn’t just business anymore. It’s become very personal.

She narrows her eyes, the hint of a smile on her lips. “Just tell me the truth, Liam. You like making me feel uncomfortable.”

She’s not wrong. I enjoy being the one who brings a blush to her cheeks.

I chuckle and then shrug. “You’re intent to push me out of my comfort zone too.”

After a pause, Chloe looks down at her lap, fiddling with the material of her skirt. “Well, I suppose this isn’t life coaching,” she reasons, sighing before meeting my eyes again. “My last boyfriend wasn’t who I thought he was.” Her tone is careful, and I can tell she’s understating the situation.

“Who was he?” I ask, not satisfied by her vague answer.

“Well, Lucas was controlling, manipulative... not a good guy.”

I have more questions, but I’m a quick study. I wait patiently for her to fill the silence with more information.

Chloe picks up on my cue and inhales like she’s summoning courage. “He was always in trouble—financial, legal, always moving to dodge debts, mostly from defrauding investors.”

She looks away, haunted. “Not all the debt collectors were on the… up and up, I guess you’d say. Once, they beat him so badly his face was swollen and bruised,” she recalls with a shiver. “They'd even show up at my place looking for him.”

My concern sharpens. “Did they ever hurt you?”

“No. But I was worried what they’d do to him if I gave him up,” she confesses, shame flickering in her eyes as she meets my gaze, seeking understanding.

My jaw tightens, anger mingled with empathy. I understand her compassion, but I’m enraged that he dragged her into his mess. That he put her at risk.

I sense there’s more to her pained look. “Did he ever hurt you?” I ask, trying to contain my rising frustration. How could she be with a guy like that?

“No,” she replies quickly, too quickly. She hesitates, and my heart sinks. “No,” she repeats, shaking her head, dismissing whatever memory might have qualified as a “yes” to my question.

“You hesitated,” I note softly.

A nervous laugh escapes her. “He threw a phone. It almost hit me, but it didn’t,” she shrugs. “I called it quits after that.” She meets my gaze.

“I’m glad,” I tell her sincerely.

A faint smile touches her lips, but then she looks down, and I know there’s more.

“We were in business together,” she adds, “and he’s not happy with the terms of our dissolution. I just found out this morning that he filed a lawsuit against me for lost profits.” Chloe shakes her head, still stunned. “I’d be completely underwater with all of this if you hadn’t offered this arrangement,” she admits, embarrassment but unnecessarily so.

“I have a good lawyer who can help you. I’ll have him call you tomorrow,” I say gently, but resolutely. It does seem fortuitous, for more reasons than I expected, that we met when we did.

Her eyebrows crease momentarily, hesitant to accept my offer, but then she manages a smile. “You’ve really got that guy-to-the-rescue thing going on, huh?”

I chuckle. “Well, it stems from childhood, right?” I tease, although I know this is true. I couldn’t help my mother when I was small, and I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since.

“Most things do,” she smiles faintly.

Again, she looks vulnerable, perhaps troubled by surfacing memories from her own painful history.

I decide I’d better tell Chloe something else. If my mother didn’t tell Chloe about the abuse, she might not have told her about her health history either. But it’s a part of me too, and I want Chloe to know it.

“A few years ago, I felt just as helpless as I did when I was a child, Chloe. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

I feel queasy again, remembering how it felt like the bottom dropping out from under me when I got the news.

As the blood drains from Chloe’s cheeks and her lips part in shock, my suspicion is instantly confirmed—my mother also failed to mention this part of her history.

“She’s been in remission for a year,” I reassure Chloe, but emotions continue to kaleidoscope across her face. “But I… uh.” I swallow hard. “I’m terrified it will come back.” I feel the sting of invading tears at my admission. I look down, waiting for the tears’ retreat.

Chloe slides her hand into mine, surprising me. Holding her hand feels natural—we were inseparable at our movie premiere date. But this is different. I doubt she holds her clients’ hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyes watery.

I nod, thinking about how lucky I am to still have my mother . I can’t imagine what Chloe’s been through. “I’m sorry you lost your mom…” I say, holding her gaze, her green eyes clouding with sorrow.

A corner of her lip turns faintly upwards, her way of thanking me. The half-smile fades as she looks down, lost in the emotions I’ve stirred up. I guess she’s hurt and confused by my mother’s decision to keep her painful past under wraps—these feelings, at least, I may be able to ease.

“Chloe, my mother loves you. She didn’t tell you because she wanted your help moving forward,” I say gently.

“I know,” Chloe nods, pulling her hand out of mine to tuck a strand of stray hair behind her ear.

I feel a pang of disappointment at her retreat, wondering if I said something wrong.

Chloe shrugs. “It just makes me doubt myself a bit, I guess.”

“You don’t need to doubt yourself,” I say earnestly. She’s successful, smart, and undeniably talented. She’s helped my mother immensely, even without knowing all the background details. She must see that.

She is also beautiful without trying—her long lashes cover her piercing green eyes as she fiddles with the material on her skirt, a curly strand of chestnut hair falling over her cheek.

Chloe looks up at me, serious. “You opened up today. You were vulnerable,” she reflects. She seems pleased with me and maybe her own skill in breaking through my hard facade.

I smile, realizing she’s right. “It really sucked,” I admit. “But it felt bearable… with you.”

Chloe searches my eyes, maybe trying to decipher if my compliment was only about her skill as a life coach. It wasn’t . I think she understands this because a faint blush colors her cheeks.

She’s so gorgeous, and I don’t think she realizes it.

“Any woman would be lucky to share that with you,” Chloe whispers. Her eyes—those deep emerald pools—hold mine with a sincerity that grips my chest. I’m taken aback by her suggestion that it’s somehow a privilege to see the darkest parts of me. Yet I can tell that’s exactly what she means.

But I don’t want any woman. I want Chloe .

I lean in, closing the space between us, and press my lips to hers.

Chloe tenses, surprised, but she doesn’t pull away.

Time itself seems to pause, to take in the weight of what we’re doing. I feel the palpable shift as we cross the line into something new.

Chloe melts into me, moving her mouth in tandem with mine, her touch a revelation. She tastes like mint candy, her breath mingling with mine.

My hand finds the curve of her waist, pulling her a fraction closer. I am slow and deliberate, caressing her lips. I want more of her, but I stop myself.

I need to give her an out. I can’t have her feeling pressured into this because I sign her checks.

I want her to want me .

So I pull back just enough to look at Chloe. Her lips are pinker now from our friction, and her breathing is ragged.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, my voice a low whisper.

“No.” Her voice is firm, resolute. No tremble. No doubt. Her eyes reflect the desire that I feel.

I pull her toward me, tasting her lips again. My fingers curl into her silky chestnut hair, holding her close, wanting to kiss away all the pain of her past. She returns my affection and I deepen the kiss, my tongue slipping past her lips, seeking hers. Chloe moans softly, a sound that vibrates through me.

I already feel my cock growing, hardening against the constraint of my jeans. My hands roam over her body, memorizing her curves.

I want to make her feel good. We're not just crossing a line. We're obliterating it, and I can't bring myself to care about anything but the feel of her in my arms.

I can’t stop kissing her, but I can multitask. My hands move to her hips, gently pulling her closer. She gets the idea and moves across my lap until she is straddling me.

The pressure of her on top of my cock makes me ache for her. She moves, just so, and a strangled groan escapes me. It's a precarious balance, this edge of pleasure and restraint.

I brush a stray curl away from her face, caressing her cheek as we’re still locked in the kiss. It’s a conversation more expressive than any amount of talk therapy. She is my elixir, and I can’t get enough.

Emboldened by the rising heat between us, my hand drifts down, fingers tracing the curve of her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt. The firmness of her nipple presses against the material, betraying her arousal. I rub my thumb over it, feeling it harden even more under my touch.

Chloe moans into my mouth and my cock twitches at the sound. Her hands rest on my shoulders, but now they slide down my chest, her fingers finding the hem of my shirt and tugging it upwards.

I’m more than happy to oblige. I break our kiss and help her peel my shirt off over my head.

Now it’s her turn.

Without breaking eye contact, I inch her blouse up slowly, taking my time. I feel her warm, smooth skin as I push up the material. She lifts her arms in silent compliance, and I pull the fabric over her head, letting it drop to the floor.

She’s wearing a silky bra, and I can see her hard, pink nipples through the thin material.

Chloe’s hands run over my chest, feeling my pectoral muscles and biceps. Her eyes flick to mine, a darker sea-green, filled with desire.

We know what’s coming, and there’s no need to rush. We’ve chosen this—each other. This isn’t the frenzied race to gratification—a means to an end—like with other women.

This feels completely different.

I enjoy the tension and anticipation, deliberately prolonging it to drive us both mad, as I run my fingers up her arm and gently move her bra strap to the side until it falls off her shoulder. She watches me, allowing me to drink in the sight of her. She’s still and patient, willing to let me take my time with her. I see goosebumps form on her arms as my other hand slides her remaining bra strap off.

I want to ravage her—to take her immediately—but this is too good to rush.

My eyes don’t leave hers as I reach behind her and find her bra clasp. I’m mesmerized by her gaze that seems to see inside of me. The quiet between us is charged with unspoken words and feelings.

I unhook her bra and let it slip down. Chloe bites her lip, and her breathing becomes shallower. She allows me to admire her beautiful form—her full breasts, her soft pink areolas with hardened nipples standing at attention.

I reach out and take her breast in my hand, caressing her.

“You’re gorgeous, Chloe,” I whisper, locking onto her jade eyes that glimmer with desire.

With my free hand, I cup her cheek and pull her into a deep kiss. I massage her breast, pinching her nipple, and she moans—loud, unrestrained—her sound swallowed by my mouth. If I were still in my college days, I might have lost it right there. My cock is throbbing for her.

I break our kiss, reclaiming my tongue, and refocus my attention on her neck. Chloe’s head drops back as she allows me access to her sensitive skin. I feel her fingers entangle in my hair.

I kiss down her neck, over her collarbone, and further down. She arches into me, offering herself up. I knead her flesh, pinching and rolling her peak between my fingers, desperate to hear every variation of pleasure I can pull from her throat. My mouth closes over her other breast, eliciting another moan that vibrates straight to my core. My cock is aching to be free, but I push that need aside. I want to savor every inch of her first.

Chloe’s moans crescendo as my tongue flicks her nipple, rolling her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger. For a second, I think that people working late in other offices may hear us, but then I realize that I truly don’t give a damn.

I want to make Chloe lose control and not care either.

I switch to her other breast, taking my time, each pull of my mouth making her quiver.

Soon I think I can’t take it anymore. I need to have more of her .

"Liam..." Chloe whispers, but I'm already moving.

With one arm, I scoop her up just enough to pivot her body sideways, laying her down on the couch. Her breast makes a wet sound as it leaves my mouth, and I turn my attention to her skirt, which needs to come off.

She watches me, her head on a pillow, as I slide the fabric down, revealing her silk panties. I allow my fingers to caress the smoothness of her legs as I draw the skirt down, slipping off her ballerina shoes, and tossing them aside without a second glace.

Now, half-kneeling on the couch with my other foot planted on the floor for balance, I take in the full view of her body, laid bare except for her panties. The vulnerability in her posture calls to something primal within me.

The way she looks at me, it's like she knows what she does to me—how she makes my heart race and my body ache for hers.

Her sudden movement catches me off guard. One moment she's a vision on the couch, and the next she's sitting up, her face level with the bulge in my jeans. Her fingers find my belt, eyes locked on mine, as if signaling that she is taking control now. I won’t argue.

Chloe works at undoing my belt and I grab my wallet from my back pocket. I quickly fish out my emergency condom as she undoes the button and unzips me.

She hooks her fingers on either side of my jeans, ready to pull them down. But she pauses to look up at me, as if wanting that moment of connection before going further. Our eye contact emboldens her, and she pulls down my jeans and boxers simultaneously.

My fully erect cock springs free centimeters from her face and I hear her suck in a breath. The sound she makes shoots straight through me.

I rip open the condom wrapper and move to put it on, but Chloe gently catches my hand. Her eyes flick to mine as she coaxes the condom from my grip. Her touch is deliberate as she places it against the head of my cock. She rolls it down, her other hand encircling me, her strokes a firm pressure that drags a groan from deep within my chest.

With the barrier securely in place, I step out of the denim pooled at my feet. Chloe lays back on the couch and I move over her. I kiss her deeply, urgently, before shifting my attention downward, brushing my lips over her skin, mapping the route to her breasts. They rise and fall rapidly, heaving with every shallow breath she takes.

I trail wet kisses across the valley between her breasts, savoring the warmth of her skin against my mouth.

Descending lower, I let my tongue glide lightly down her stomach. Chloe's muscles contract under the teasing touch, her abdomen tensing with pleasure. She squirms beneath me, the anticipation building with each deliberate caress. My name falls from her lips again, a plea mingled with the sweetness of her arousal.

"More," she gasps.

And I intend to give her exactly that.

The silky edge of her panties meets my fingers, and I pause, looking up at her. She looks at me intensely, allowing me to expose her. Trusting me with her.

I hook my fingers under the fabric, tugging it down over the curve of her hips. She lifts slightly, aiding in her own unveiling, and it's like unwrapping a gift—slow, deliberate, savored.

The fabric slides down, and Chloe obliges me by pointing her legs straight up to the ceiling.

I kneel on the couch above her, pulling the thin material finally off her feet, and tossing it aside. But as she starts to drop her legs, I catch her calves in a firm grip, halting her motion.

Her eyes flash up to mine, wide with a flicker of surprise that I'm not done calling the shots. Not yet.

"Trust me," I whisper low and rough, holding her captured legs in place, still locked together, and pointed skyward.

I lock her gaze, hold it. She nods, biting her lip, and I can almost taste her excitement.

Then, with my hands wrapped around each of her calves, I slowly pull them apart, spreading her legs until I can just fit in between. I drop a kiss on the soft skin of her inner calf. It's a tease, a promise. I hear Chloe’s breathing turning ragged.

"Liam," she pants, and there's a hint of plea in her voice. But I'm nowhere near done.

I trail kisses down the insides of her legs, spreading them incrementally wider, making a path toward where she's wet and waiting.

My pace is maddeningly slow, deliberate. She squirms beneath me, and I have to hold her leg steady as I worship her with my mouth. Every nerve in my body screams to rush, to take her now, but this—this torturous climb—will mean so much more.

I am so aroused; my heart is pounding. I'm so close now, so damn close to tasting her. I pause, breathing hard, my eyes locking onto Chloe's right before I lower my mouth to where she’s most sensitive, my tongue finding her clit.

Her sharp intake of breath is a sweet sound as I take her, my mouth fierce against the tender bud of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Her arms sprawl above her head, a silent submission that sets my blood on fire.

My tongue flicks, wanting to drive her insane, as I slide two fingers inside her. She's so wet, so ready.

Chloe moans and writhes in pleasure. I don't let up, my mouth and fingers working in tandem to draw every shiver, every shuddering breath from her.

Her breath comes faster, a staccato rhythm that matches the pulse I feel throbbing through her veins.

My fingers curl inside her, relentless in their search as she trembles beneath my touch. The moment I find it, her sweet spot, Chloe practically levitates off the couch. I feel her inner walls tense up.

"Liam," she groans, her voice a husky note that vibrates through me. Her head rolls back against the cushion. I feel the rush of wetness on my fingers and Chloe goes limp. She's come undone at my touch, and the raw intimacy of it grips me fiercely.

I pull myself up along Chloe's body, muscles taut and mind homed in on the feel of her beneath me. My cock nudges against her. She's warm and ready, the evidence still slick on my fingers.

Chloe's hands find their way into my hair, her grip firm and wanting. She drags me down to her lips, fierce and full of fire. I kiss her back with equal fervor.

"I want you," she murmurs against my mouth. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, urging me on without a single doubt.

My eyes lock onto hers. They're wide and dark with desire, a silent yes. She’s breathing fast and waiting to accept me.

I’m so hard, I can’t take anymore waiting. Every nerve ending screams for release.

I position myself, the head of my cock just brushing against her, teasing us both. It's a moment of exquisite torture, that split second before everything changes.

Slowly, I push inside. Her grip on my hair tightens, a gasp escaping her as she takes me in. Her heat envelops me, and it's all-consuming.

"Look at me, Chloe," I whisper, as I start to move, and she does. The look in her eyes, it anchors me and undoes me all at once. Watching her every flicker of emotion, of pleasure and surrender, as I move inside of her arouses me even more. I thrill at her letting me take her completely.

I groan and dive in for another kiss, building up a rhythm. Chloe's warmth surrounds me, tight and perfect. This isn’t the eyes-closed, drunk sex that I’m accustomed to. This a stone-cold sober, lights-on, we-know-exactly-what-we-are-doing sex—and it’s so much more fucking hot.

Chloe purrs with pleasure, spurring me on. I change my rhythm, my body rocks into hers with an intensity that has us both breathing harder.

My hand finds the silk of her hair, gently pulling her head back. Her neck, exposed and vulnerable, beckons my lips and I lay claim to her skin there. I alternate my pace, slow then quick, teasing us both with the promise of release.

The pace quickens, desperate and reckless. We're on the edge, teetering, and I want to fall over it together. I reach down, fingers finding her clit, and I rub fast circles.

Her body convulses, gripping me tight, and her cry, a mix of my name and a string of expletives, fills the room. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

It’s too much—it pushes me over the edge. I find the sweet release inside her.

I bury my face in her neck, breathing hard, as waves of pleasure roll over us both.

We rest for a moment, basking in the afterglow.

Her ponytail is smashed to one side, the tie almost falling out, and loose curls are everywhere. The definition of sex hair.

Everything is changed between us. I crossed the line. And I couldn’t be happier.

As I give her a kiss, I am struck once again by how stunningly beautiful she is. She responds with a shy smile, which surprises me given how confident and comfortable she was a moment ago.

I think about telling her that she doesn’t need to be shy with me. But before I can speak, I hear a low rumbling noise in the hall beyond her closed office door.

Chloe’s eyes go wide, and she looks instantly terrified. “Oh, shit,” she whispers, shooting up to a sitting position. “The janitor!”

I push myself upright. “Uh, we should—” I think about locking the door but realize the janitor would have a key.

“Get dressed!” Chloe throws a ball of clothing at my chest. I catch it and scramble to get my shirt on.

I stand, the full condom still dangling from me. I peel it off and Chloe, panties on now, anticipates my moves and holds out the small office garbage can to me. I chuck the condom inside.

I’m sure anyone in the adjoining offices would have heard us. Chloe was loud enough. But getting caught half-naked is another thing.

I buckle my belt as I hear the doorknob turn. Chloe yanks her skirt on just in time.

A heavyset woman with her hair up in a tight bun walks in, pushing a vacuum cleaner and pulling a large rolling garbage can behind her. She stops short when she sees us and pulls her earbuds out. “Should I come back?” she asks, sounding bothered at our presence.

The feeling is mutual. I would have gladly lounged naked with Chloe a while longer.

“Yes—” I start.

“No.” Chloe laughs uneasily and shoots me a glance. “We’re just leaving.”

The woman looks down at my feet, which are still shoeless. A pillow from the couch is on the floor. She raises her eyebrow disapprovingly at us, clearly understanding what just happened.

We are caught. I immediately think of the fitness coaches, limo drivers, and other personnel I’ve heard about leaking stories to the press about famous colleagues. I had a public relations cleanup of my own a couple years ago with a personal assistant. Her allegation was false, but we had to buy the story to kill it.

The cleaning woman’s tiny name tag says her name is Martha. I wonder if Martha would sell us out. I study her face and don’t see any flicker of recognition. But that doesn’t mean she won’t realize who I am later and decide she could cash in on this.

“I have fabric disinfectant spray.” Martha nods to the couch, reassuring us that she is equipped to clean up our mess.

Chloe’s cheeks are bright red, and she appears tongue tied.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, pulling my wallet from my back pocket.

Maybe Martha will never realize who I am or that she could make a buck by running to the tabloids with a story about a media mogul’s after hours half-clothed office sighting. Even if she does realize who I am, maybe she isn’t the type of person to go to the tabloids.

But there’s a chance.

Chloe is already a shade of crimson. I can’t imagine how upset she would be if our intimacies on her office couch were printed in entertainment news.

“Martha.” I approach her coolly with socked feet. “I’d like to offer you five grand to keep this between us,” I cut to the chase.

Martha screws up her face and looks at me like I’m trying to scam her. I glance at Chloe, her eyes wide, bewildered by my offer.

“That’s more than the press would pay,” I explain to Martha.

“What are you, some celebrity?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Something like that.” I clear my throat. “I’d simply like to protect our privacy.”

“Vultures,” Martha shakes her head, leaning on the vacuum handle. “I never liked the tabloids.”

We might have been safe just walking away. But five thousand is a small price to pay for certainty.

“If you’ll sign a simple non-disclosure agreement, I’ll pay now.” I pull out my phone. My lawyers insist I keep an electronic NDA on me, for times like these I suppose.

“So, you’re paying me for my silence?” Martha grins, amused.

It’s an accurate appraisal of the situation. “Yes.”

“Okay, you can Venmo me,” she agrees.

I allow her to scroll through the short NDA on my phone. Chloe looks on silently, her eyebrows furrowed. I can tell she’s brimming with questions.

“ I’m sorry,” I mouth, aware how awkward this must be for her. She shakes her head to dismiss my apology, but the disquiet in her eyes remains.

“You hiring at your mansion?” Martha asks as she skims the legal document.

The question catches me off guard. We have a full staff, but this is probably not the time to tell her “no . ” She hasn’t signed yet.

“Uh, yes, actually,” I lie, allowing her the opportunity to squeeze more out of this deal as long as I can keep this night out of the public eye.

“What’s the pay?”

“I think we can negotiate something that’ll work for you,” I assure her.

“Twenty an hour, full-time,” Martha asserts.

I would have paid more.

“Fine by me,” I agree.

Martha smiles and finally signs the NDA with her finger.

I quickly gather her details and transfer over the funds. Within minutes, the money is traveling through cyberspace.

“Martha, did you see anyone else working late?” I ask, afraid that someone else in the building could still leak our office sex story. I really don’t want to pay off more people.

“Nobody working the way you two were,” she chuckles, and I notice Chloe stiffen. “Just one guy on the first floor. I doubt he heard you if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s on the other end.” Martha motions across the building.

I nod, relieved, and slide on my shoes. “Come over to the house in the morning to work out the details,” I tell Martha, shooting her a text with the address.

“You got it, boss.” She beams, her mood much lighter now.

In contrast, Chloe’s mood has soured and I’m afraid she’s resurrecting another wall between us. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door.

Chloe and I both thank Martha as we walk past, but Chloe’s voice is quiet, constricted. She’s maintaining composure, but I know there’s a lot on her mind.

She hits the elevator button a little too forcefully.

I want to put my arm around her, but her body language tells me it may not be welcome. Her arms are crossed, and I know she’s bothered.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I join her to wait for the elevator.

“Yeah.” She smiles at me, but I know it’s masking something.

The elevator door opens, and I follow her inside. She presses “G” and leans against the wall near the buttons, quiet, thinking. I’m desperate to know what’s on her mind. I position myself against the back wall, perpendicular to her. There is space between us, but not too much.

“Chloe, I want the real answer,” I say gently. I’m afraid now that she’s regretting what happened between us.

That catches her attention, and she looks up at me.

“How often do you do that?” she asks.

I knew this was coming.

“Buy people off?” I ask, though I’m certain that’s what she means.

She raises her eyebrows, waiting for an answer, because that’s exactly what she means.

“Not often, but a couple times,” I admit.

“When?” She crosses her arms again.

I sigh. “A former personal assistant said I had an affair with a married actress. It was untrue, and my PR team buried it.”

She considers my revelation. “What else?”

“And a fine that we didn’t want to get out.” The elevator stops at the ground floor and the doors roll open, but Chloe doesn’t budge.

“A fine?” Chloe narrows her eyes at me.

“I got caught skinny dipping in an apartment pool with some woman,” I explain, keeping my voice low even though the building is nearly deserted. “I was fined for indecent exposure.” Not one of my proudest moments. “It was almost ten years ago,” I add.

The elevator door closes again, trapping us inside.

Chloe seems to soften when she hears that it was long ago. She nods and stands up straighter. “What else?”

“There’s nothing else.” I shake my head.

She watches me intently, maybe trying to catch me in a lie.

“It scares me that you have an NDA ready in your back pocket to keep people quiet,” she admits. It sounds really shitty, when she puts it like that.

“It’s a reality of my position,” I try to explain.

“Why didn’t you give me one?” she asks, searching my face. She looks beautiful, even with her shirt buttoned incorrectly and her hair still tousled from our intimate encounter.

I want to move towards her, but the timing isn’t right. I lean against the back of the elevator.

“You don’t need one,” I answer honestly.

“Why?” she prods.

“Because I trust you.”

“Why?” she repeats, her voice quieter now. She wants something more.

I realize there is a hint of an invitation here and I accept, moving in closer.

“I think you know why,” I say.

“Answer the question,” she challenges me, stiffening and I pause my advance towards her. “Is this how you solve all your problems?” she asks, not ready to let this go, but her tone seems lighter, like she sees a hint of comedy in the situation. “Add people to your staff?”

“Seems to work.” I shrug and intend to go in for a kiss, but she puts her hand on my chest to halt me.

“I’m giving your money back,” she says, my face inches from hers. “This is wrong.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” I say. I just want her.

As I move in to kiss her, the elevator doors open once more, interrupting us. Annoyed, I watch as she exits and starts walking away from me. Did she press the button again?

“Chloe!” I call out as I chase after her. Her heels make a rhythmic clicking on the polished travertine floor as she slips out through the front door.

She’s heading towards her car, a late 90s champagne-colored Camry with rust on the bumper. She’s a millionaire now but she hasn’t upgraded her vehicle—or anything else that I’ve seen, other than keeping her office space.

The night air is cool and breezy as I jog to catch her.

“Chloe,” I repeat, finally reaching her side. “I don’t understand. Are you quitting?” I ask, incredulous.

She stops suddenly, and I turn to face her. “I don’t know,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut, clearly frustrated. The parking is dimly lit, and we stand under the lone light.

“Tell me what you want,” I plead, searching for a way to fix this.

She opens her eyes, meeting my gaze, uncertainty flickering as she considers her answer.

“I don’t want to feel bought,” she finally says.

“You’re not bought,” I respond immediately, floored that she could think that. “That’s not how I feel.”

She studies my expression, looking for the truth. A curl of her brunette hair blows across her face, and she wraps her arms around herself, chilled in the night air.

“Chloe, I think we both know this isn’t just business anymore,” I say, searching her eyes, wanting to break through the barrier she’s put up.

She remains quiet, but I see something shift in her expression—surprise, I realize. She didn’t expect me to admit we’ve crossed into something else.

I see her soften, but she’s still hesitant, waiting for something else.

“Please, Chloe,” I implore. “I want you to feel comfortable.” I reach out to touch her. I rub my hands up and down her arms, trying to warm her. She doesn’t pull away.

“You need to stop saying that. It’s bullshit.” She smiles.

I grin. “Okay, it’s bullshit.” She’s right. I want to make her feel something—make her adrenaline rush and heart beat faster.

I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Chloe holds my gaze, unflinching. I can hear the ocean waves crashing out in the darkness.

“Is this the part where I get to kiss you goodnight?” I ask, filled with hope.

Chloe smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I think we’re exactly at that part, yes.”

Without a moment's hesitation, I lean in and kiss her deeply. Relief washes over me as she melts into the embrace. It’s heartfelt and consuming, and I never want to stop. But if I don’t, I’m going to need more of her—again.

I reluctantly end the kiss. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

“Goodnight,” she replies with a smile, opening her car door.

As she drives away, I head to my BMW parked two spots away. My mind whirls with thoughts. Tonight, everything has shifted.

I’m captivated by Chloe—my employee, my pretend girlfriend. I never thought this fake relationship could feel so real.

I’m in serious trouble.